


Valdo Marx and the Bear Witcher who was a master Bard

by brothebro



Series: The Bear, the Wolf and the Sorceress [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bardic competition, Crack, Disguise, Humor, Secret Identity, Valdo Marx pov, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro
Summary: Valdo Marx is an accomplished man with one regret: The fact that he never got the chance to apologize to Jaskier for stealing his ideas for a bardic competition.He meets the rival bard after many years incidentally on Oxenfurt's annual Bardic Contest.There's one teeny tiny problem though. The bard he knew seems to be a... Witcher????(Can be read as a standalone)
Relationships: Valdo Marx & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bear, the Wolf and the Sorceress [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677910
Comments: 29
Kudos: 393





	Valdo Marx and the Bear Witcher who was a master Bard

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand, NO! A MILLION THANKS to [StarsInMyDamnEyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes) for helping me out with the lyrics of Jaskier's song! <3  
> They did an amazing job on fixing my awful lyrics ! Go check them out the write amazing Witcher!Jaskier fics <3

Valdo is a man that is quite content with his life. He’s the troubadour of Cidaris, a well-respected lecturer in the Oxenfurt Academy of Arts and a successful songwriter as well. Furthermore, his ballad ‘The lady and the lake’ is well received in numerous courts in the Continent. What is there more to desire? 

He does have a teeny tiny regret though. Something that weighs him down and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks about it. And sadly, he thinks about it a lot. 

That regret goes by the name of Jaskier, the traveling bard. 

Contrary to popular belief Valdo did not hate the other bard. It was quite the opposite if he were to be truthful. He held nothing but the utmost respect for the talent and ability to enthrall his audience with his music. Heck, ‘Toss a Coin’ was one of the seven wonders of the art of music, in Valdo’s humble opinion. 

The regret lied to a very foolish mistake he’d made when he was still a young man in his twenties, barely out of the Academy. You see, he had stolen Jaskier’s idea for a poetry competition and he had somehow managed to win first place with it. Well, it was not an actual theft technically, it was more of an inspiration that bloomed when he read the man’s diary.  _ Scratch that. _ That actually sounds worse. 

Anyways, Jaskier and he spent decades exchanging caustic mail back and forth, trading insults in the most imaginative way possible. Admittedly, sometimes the insults barely made any sense, being an incoherent word vomit, but he always found comfort when he received a letter from Jaskier. 

The letters had stopped abruptly two years ago. Valdo waited patiently for many months but when no letter came his way he became riddled with worry. He paid good money for any information regarding the traveling bard, but it seems the man was swallowed by the earth whole. There is no sign of him anywhere. 

Jaskier was a constant in Valdos’s life. A constant he very much wanted there. And now that he wasn’t there was this hole in Valdo’s chest. It hurt.

If only he had pushed his pride aside and asked Jaskier for forgiveness sooner. 

Now, he — a balding middle-aged man, wearing thick spectacles— was sitting alone in the “Three Little Bells” inn’s tavern hall in Oxenfurt, drowning his sorrows on sweet Temerian wine. 

He’s back in Oxenfurt for the annual poetry and song festival. It’s not like he needs to prove to anyone his bardic skills, it’s just that he hopes Jaskier will be here this time. 

Valdo’s on his second glass of wine, the sweet liquor already messing with his senses. He contemplates calling it a night, but then Jaskier’s personal Witcher —Geralt of… he doesn’t remember, but it’s him alright— enters the tavern, followed by none other than Essi  _ bloody  _ Daven. Needless to say, Valdo is intrigued, though saddened that Jaskier is nowhere to be seen. 

He orders another glass of wine and scoots closer to the table to which the Witcher and the trobairitz are seated so he can eavesdrop without having to strain his ears too much. 

“Did you sign up the fool for the bardic competition Essi?” says the Witcher. Valdo’s eyes glimmer with hope that this fool the Witcher mentioned is  _ the  _ fool he’s been searching for the past two years. 

“Of course I did! Shame I had to use that alias for the registration though.” Essi chirps happily. 

The Witcher shrugs. “His fault for being a dumbass.”

“Yeah… He shouldn’t have used the ring last week.” Essi agrees nodding solemnly.  _ Ring? What ring?  _ What are those people even talking about? Valdo is trying his best to remain his nonchalant composure so that he can keep eavesdropping without being noticed. 

Valdo catches in the corner of his eye as another man — a Witcher, judging from the two swords strapped on his hips— approaches Essi and Geralt. 

“I got the coin babe~ Ale’s on me tonight!” the new Witcher says in a very familiar singing voice. It takes Valdo but a moment to recognize the pitch. The voice does definitely belong to non-other than Jaskier. Valdo’s brows arched in confusion. 

He scans the man from head to toe behind the guise of reading his notebook, that he always carries with him. Same height, built, hair color, voice as Jaskier. Two very non-human yellow cat eyes. A shit-ton of scars. A familiar lute case deposited neatly next to his chair. Valdo narrows his eyes. He’d recognize the lute case everywhere. It is Jaskier’s, that much is sure. But is the man himself the same bard he admires? 

Valdo’s lost in thought and has missed a significant part of the conversation he’s supposed to be eavesdropping. He tries to focus again. 

The man with Jaskier’s voice is laughing.  _ It’s the same laugh, clear and musical like the trickling water in a spring stream.  _ “Just wait and see!” he gestures theatrically just like Jaskier would always do, “The greatest bard to have walked the continent”, he pauses dramatically, “Dandelion, will win the contest!”

“Jules.” Geralt says, “Calm the fuck down. I bet everyone in the tavern can hear you.”

“Geralt is right Julian. You want to participate in the contest, don’t you?” Essi adds. The man —Julian— nods in defeat and makes a gesture bringing a hand to his mouth to signify that he’ll stop talking from now on. 

Valdo goes back to his wine, satisfied with the information he’s gotten so far. He eagerly awaits the singing competition so that he’ll make absolutely sure Julian is in fact Jaskier. 

In his heart, he knows that it’s true that the brute Witcher before him and the bard he knows is the same person, but he can’t quite wrap his mind around it yet. 

Oh, well. He’ll find out about it for sure tomorrow. 

-

Valdo arrives extremely early at the festival. The preparations for the bardic contest are still ongoing; the last decorative touches being assembled. It’s colorful and beautiful and Valdo’s heart is fluttering at the notion of hearing so many new songs and meeting new artists. But mostly, he’s excited to be witnessing the performance of the illustrious Jaskier after so many years. 

Maybe because he was there too early, or maybe due to pure luck he ends up as a judge for the very same contest he came all the way to Oxenfurt for. Splendid. This way his view won’t be obstructed by students and peasants whose only desire is to have  _ fun.  _ Art is to be relished after all. It shouldn’t be a fleeting thing.

The first couple of performances are those of two of his students. He’s disappointed. They lack the flourish and technique of an experienced musician. Well, they are still very young, they’ll get there, he’s certain. He notes down on a piece of parchment some suggestions of improvement to tell them later in private (he doesn’t want to accidentally embarrass them in public). 

The next ten or so songs are dull and repetitive. Some have a notable stage presence but the melodies and lyrics are just so banal. Nothing worth remembering. Valdo is burning with anticipation with each passing song. Why must ‘Dandelion’s’ name be so low on the list? He curses silently. 

The time for Dandelion’s performance has come. Valdo is visibly shaking from anticipation. The other two judges side-eye him but he cares not for their opinion. He’s certain they are going to have their mind blown. 

“Dandelion of Vizima!” the host announces. “He’ll sing his original composition ‘Horror of Caed Dhu’.”

Dandelion enters the stage with a light, feathery walk that radiates confidence. The man is wearing an astonishingly intricate purple doublet with trousers to match, a silver mask that hides the top half of his face and a purple hat in the popular hunter fashion, a single heron feather secured on its left side. The Witcher in disguise certainly looks dashing. 

_ ‘It screams and calls forth with its pleas _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu, _

_ Black feathers between the gnarled trees _

_ Where some terror flew _

_ A murder of ravenous crows, indeed _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ Fangs sharp as razor blades, they bleed _

_ The lonely prey they slew _

_ A pack of vicious wolves, the mud, _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ They come for you, they want your blood, _

_ To tear your flesh from you _

_ Between gnarled trees, and branches black _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ A skull of deer and wooden back _

_ And strange limbs peeking through _

_ It wants to scrape your dull bones clean, _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ As it emerges from the green _

_ To do what it can do _

_ It won't expect the silver hack _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ A Witcher's blade aimed at its back _

_ And pain it never knew _

_ You slay the wild, you tame the beast, _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ The cursed spurge, a blade does feast, _

_ Like it would feast on you _

_ You get the proof, cut clean and swift _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ For those it terrorized, a gift _

_ So you'll be paid your due _

_ And yet! The beast lives on, in spite, _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ A form well-liked, to flee the fight, _

_ A face that they all knew _

_ The sting of steel does terrorize _

_ The horror of Caed Dhu _

_ But as it hides in its disguise _

_ It turns its sights on you’ _

  
  


The melody is haunting, deep and nothing that Valdo’s ever heard in all his 45 years of existence. In fact, Valdo didn’t even know a lute could produce such ethereal sounds. And the howling between the verses.  _ The howling! _ It made every single body hair on his person stand up. Yet, it remains a distinctly  _ Jaskier  _ composition. But it’s so much more than that.  _ So much more _ .

Valdo’s certain the song speaks of the great Leshen that terrorized the Black Forest half a century ago. It’s a well-known story, still taught in the Academy under oral tradition. It is said the beast had chased the druids out of their forest for many years until suddenly it was no more. Nobody knows what happened; some say the curse upon the woods was lifted by a benevolent hag, others say a band of Lyria’s best knights slaughtered the beast and others call all of the above poppycock claiming the only logical thing, that is, a Witcher was hired and rid the woods of the pest. Valdo now knows the third option is the true one. 

It’s strange really. His brain, for all the education it’s received, cannot fathom that his rival, the man he respects the most in the Continent, has always been a Witcher. A tiny part of his mind protests that he could have been made the past 3 years. But that’s all beyond reason. There hasn’t been a new Witcher for more than half a century. 

Valdo’s decided he’ll make the curious Witcher win the competition. It’s only fair. It was a masterpiece. He jots down his arguments for his choice on the parchment before him. He can only hope the other judges are as enamored by the song as he is.

-

It appears that the other judges’ taste in music is at best bland and at worst non-existent. The old fools are pegging for their students to win the competition; a mediocre trobairitz by the name of Veruska --a girl who’s failed his class on composition twice-- and a young man by the name of Zlatko whose composition is promising though his lyrics are probably the most uninspiring of all the contestants. Who, in all that’s righteous and kind, sings about a loaf of bread? There are only a finite number of ways to describe it and the man has used them all. At least thrice. 

“Surely, we can agree that this Dandelion chap was the best by miles,” he says to professor Castimir and professor Venka in the hope of changing their stubborn minds. 

Venka chuckles and adjusts her thick spectacles with a finger. “We can’t very well choose a nobody dear mister Marx. For all we know the lad didn’t even receive a proper education.”

“Ah well,” Castimir chimes in sipping honey wine from his goblet--  _ the bloody drunkard _ \--, “this hideous mask does not help his case either. A bard that respects himself would never hide behind a mask, after all.” 

Valdo cannot believe what he’s hearing. They are dismissing the best of the best, the creme de la creme of the bards. For a mask??? 

“With all due respect professor Venka and professor Castimir: Are you out of your bloody minds? Dandelion was very obviously classically trained. You can surely see that his lute-playing and songwriting bears similarities to those of the famous Jaskier.”

Valdo’s little outburst seems to have gotten them thinking. Thank the entire pantheon that they did not immediately disregard his words for calling them crazy. 

“You know Mr. Marx,” Venka says meeting his eyes, “I believe you’re onto something.” She hums and blows silvery strands from her wrinkled face.

_ Oh? _

“Elaborate please.”

“I was trying to place where I’ve heard his voice before. It is, after all,  _ very  _ distinct. Now I know.”  _ Oh no…  _ “It is identical to that of Jaskier.” 

_ Fuck.  _ He accidentally gave away Jaskier’s cover. 

“I agree,” professor drunkard says, “the more I think about it the more similarities I find with the esteemed Jaskier’s way of performing. Heck! The man even looks like him!”

Valdo audibly gulps, unable to utter a word.

“Oh, I’d be more than happy to hand the first place to Jaskier!” Venka claps her hands.

“We’ll have to make him get rid of this ridiculous mask though.” Castimir proposes and Valdo’s had enough. 

“Esteemed professors,” Valdo says carefully, “Perhaps he has a reason for acquiring a new moniker and that… disguise. You surely noticed that hideous scar on his lips! Perhaps we should not--”

“Nonsense!” Castimir shrieks.  _ Oh, dear... _ “A scar, no matter how repulsive, is no valid reason to hide behind a mask and a new name. If anything every single person in the Continent is going to be overjoyed that he is back!”

_ No, they won’t,  _ he wants to scream but holds his tongue. His reputation will be shattered. A Witcher singing praises about other Witchers? In this era? It will sound preposterous. Every soul from Oxenfurt to Nilfgaard will spite him. Nobody likes a self-serving ballad. (Well Valdo does, but he can hardly be mixed with the general public.) 

-

They call first, in traditional fashion, the third-place winner Veruska and then the second-place winner Zlatko before announcing who won the first-place of the grand bardic competition. 

Jaskier enters the stage as sprightly and elegant as before. With a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He bows deeply to the crowd who’s applauding and cheering on him loudly. 

Castimir stands up and prompts the other judges to do so as well. Valdo stands up reluctantly chanting sorries to Jaskier under his breath. If the Witcher heard him he doesn’t do anything and just waits to see how the scene will unfold. Which is --and Valdo’s not being dramatic-- disastrous. 

Castimir coughs to gain the attention. “Thanks to our esteemed lecturer Valdo Marx it has come to our attention-,”  _ Fucking hell.  _ Valdo tries to curl up on himself in a futile attempt to become invisible. He can already feel the Witcher’s furious blazing gaze upon him. 

“I am so sorry Jaskier!” Valdo blurts out. Loud. “Fuck. I- I didn’t-” 

Jaskier crosses his arms nonchalantly and smiles. That, somehow, makes Valdo even more scared for his life.

“I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, professors,  _ Mr. Marx _ ,” the Witcher gestures theatrically, “For I am not the illustrious Jaskier, merely a fan of his work. Any resemblance is purely coincidental,” he jests.

“Oh then perhaps you could humor us a bit and tell us about your education? Where did you study mister Dandelion?” Venka chirps, her voice shrill and inquisitive.

“Why of course! One acquires many teachers when one travels as much as I.” he responds humbly. “Jaskier was but one of them. Dearest Essi Daven was another. I hope my answer pleases you, professor.”

Castimir curses under his breath. Valdo feels like suffocating. He’s absolutely sure the Witcher is Jaskier. He’s sure. He prays his bluff won’t be called by the two idiots next to him. Valdo can only see one ending and he doesn’t like it. 

Venka hums smirking smugly. “Very well. We’ll ask one last thing of you. You see, we of the committee did agree to hand you the first place if you remove that mask of yours. Call it… an act of trust if you might. We swear on Melitele no one will judge you, for whatever it is you’re hiding under the mask.”

The statement seems to be extremely funny to the Witcher as he falls into a laughing fit that lasts a good two minutes.  _ Well, maybe the outcome won’t be as bad. Maybe poor Valdo will get to keep his head. _

“I’m warning you,” Jaskier says teasingly, the smirk never leaving his face, “You will not like what you see,  _ professor. _ ”

“Get on with it!” says Venka and the crowd beneath echoes her words.

“You’re not allowed to change your minds, you swore on the goddess.”

“ _ Yes! _ ”

Jaskier hums in the familiar way he always did when he was about to get his way. Ever the performer, the bard-Witcher takes his sweet time unfastening the mask, removing it painfully slowly. Valdo hears as both Venka and Castimir gasp in sync and he can’t help stop the laugh escaping his throat. If he survives the day he’ll cherish the memory of it forever. 

‘A witcher’ the crowd murmurs. ‘A witcher won the contest’ and ‘the world is ending’ can be heard as the spectators shout words between them. 

“Next time I get a proper glamour like a proper person. Oh well...” Jaskier mutters to himself. 

As nobody dares move it’s up to Valdo to announce the winner and hand him the parchment that officiates the accomplishment. 

_ If I die, I die,  _ Valdo thinks to himself as he walks towards Jaskier back arched straight, his strides confident. 

“Next time get a glamour Jaskier,” he whispers when he gets close enough. He feels those golden cat eyes pierce through him. 

Jaskier smiles genuinely at him. He did not expect that. He did not.

“Next time think before you speak, you talentless buffoon.” Jaskier winks at him. 

Valdo nods slightly, the word ‘sorry’ forming on his mouth silently. “Are we good?” he asks hopefully as he hands the parchment to the Witcher.

“If we weren’t you’d know it,” the witcher answers cheekily and Valdo feels his heart skip a beat. 


End file.
